31 Aug

A fair to remember

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me.

A few weeks ago, I had the, um, interesting assignment of spending 10 days at the Montana State Fair in Great Falls. (I know you’re probably struggling to read past that first sentence, seeing how you’re likely consumed by a fit of raging jealousy right now. But please, try to collect yourself and continue.)

I spent 10 days at the fair to run UM’s marketing booth, which means I recruited approximately 1.5 students but handed out thousands of Griz football posters. But hey, whatever brings in the dolla billz, yo.

Shorty after arriving to set up shop, people from the surrounding booths started setting up as well, and I quickly realized that I would spend the next week and a half surrounded by a Jesus booth, a tattoo booth (yes, real, ink-in-the-skin, not-going-away-without-serious-laser-treatments tattoos) and a “homosexuality is a sin” booth. The people running these booths did not exactly share my liberal worldview. I joked to Zach that I would probably come home with a tat inscribed with the words“God hates fags but Jesus loves me.”

Actually, the Jesus people weren’t so bad – they spoke in tongues sometimes, but seeing how I had no idea what they were saying, they were basically innocuous. But the homo haters, on the other hand… well, they had some interesting ideas. A sampling of their logic:

  • People should not believe in science, because there’s no way dinosaurs and birds could possibly be related. Apparently, this logic also led him to believe that their god is ruthless and will smite any dude who’s ever thought of another dude as more than just a friend.
  • Setting up a booth at the fair with a giant sign that says, “Is homosexuality sin?” is OK and not discriminating at all because it’s like telling someone that their house is on fire and he is in serious danger. You wouldn’t just walk by a burning building and not tell the occupants about it, would you? Would you?!?

And then there was the Lemur Lady. Though I never saw it, the Lemur Lady apparently had a booth where people came and played with her lemurs. And, apparently, it’s not inappropriate at all to wrap a lemur around your neck and take it into a public bathroom, despite the fact that it violates EVERY HEALTH CODE EVER ENACTED. But hey, anything flies at the fair, even if it spreads communicable diseases.

Well, unless you’re an flaming HIV-infected homosexual sinner, of course.

9 Jul

You have now entered Marathon Mode

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Life and Such.

Sunday, I have a little 26.2-mile run to do, commonly referred to as a “marathon.”

(NOTE TO NONRUNNERS/RUNNING NOVICES: “Marathon” does not refer to just any ol’ race, like that podunk neighborhood 5k you once jogged. It must be a race that is 26 miles and 385 yards. You did not run a 3.1-mile “marathon.” Also, never ask anyone, let alone a runner, “So, how long was that marathon?” You will look foolish. And, in the words of the immortal Mr. T, “I pity da foo.”)

And because I’m running a marathon on Sunday, July 11, 2010, at 6 a.m., it means that on Thursday, July 8, 2010, at approximately 9:15 a.m., I transitioned into Marathon Mode. In this state, all thoughts and actions revolve around the impending footrace, and normal behavior ceases to exist.

Marathon Mode: Also an option in Tetris.

It only takes a few seconds for Marathon Mode to “click,” and when it does, nothing else matters but the race. All thoughts revolve around the marathon, and anything anyone says to you pertains to the marathon, because why in the world would they talk to you about anything but the marathon when it’s less than TWO DAYS away?!?

Yesterday, for example, when my boss asked me “so, are you registered?” I immediately replied “For the marathon??? Yes, of course!!!” He was supposedly referring to a training course at work, which we had discussed a mere five minutes prior. But why would he be asking me about something like that because doesn’t he know I’m about to RUN A MARATHON?!?!

Or take my trip to the Good Food Store yesterday. While checking out, I was so focused on deciding whether to run with a pacer or go it alone during the race, that when the checker asked me to sign my receipt, I stared at him, perplexed, like he was one of those little Kia-driving rapper-hamsters. “DON’T YOU KNOW I’M RUNNING A MARATHON IN TWO DAYS?!? I CAN’T BE USING ALL MY ENERGY TO SIGN A RECEIPT!”

When in Marathon Mode, simple decisions, like taking the stairs, suddenly turn into the most agonizing of dilemmas. “What if I slip on my way up and tumble over backward into a man-eating crocodile pit full of boiling lava that burns my eyes out and I have to live the rest of my life guided by a seeing-eye ferret?!? Or what if — gulp — I pull a hammy?!?!?”

At this point, any reasonable person would say to themselves, “Self, that is ridiculous. There’s no way man-eating crocodiles could survive in a pit of boiling-hot lava. They’re cold-blooded, for crying out loud!”

However, this logic does not occur to a person in Marathon Mode, and she takes the elevator instead of climbing one flight of stairs, lest she risk a career-ending injury.

Since you basically have to be crazy to run a marathon in the first place, I figure Marathon Mode is just nature’s way of preventing total delirium overload on the big day.

Let’s just hope my bout with insanity — and my race — are swift and (relatively) painless.

5 Jul

Apples to Apples

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me. Tagged: , , , , , , .

Every time Zach and I go to a party and someone suggests we play the popular and delightful game Apples to Apples, I have to quickly suggest another option, such as taking turns punching one another in the stomach.

That’s how bad Zach is at Apples to Apples.

If you’re not familiar with A2A, the premise is simple yet unique: Each player receives seven red cards, each with a noun printed on it. They then take turns being the judge, who draws from a stack of green cards with adjectives on them. The other players decide which of their noun cards best fits that adjective. The judge ranks the red cards, and the person who put in the No. 1 card — according to the judge AND NO ONE ELSE — wins that round.

Anyone who’s ever played A2A understands the key is to play into the personality of the current judge. For example, if the person likes funny or ironic combinations (which make the game infinitely more enjoyable than the seriously lame literal pairings, I might add), then you know that during her turn, you should opt for that over a noun that works in a more conventional sense. All other humans who have played A2A fully comprehend this and strategize accordingly. Zach does not.

See, when Zach plays A2A, he apparently loses the quick sense of wit and humor he exudes so effortlessly otherwise. If you played with him, you’d soon realize he’s one of those people who prefers the literal pairings, and whenever his turn rolled around, you’d play a card to suit this preference.

So, while playing the combination “delicious babies” might be some of the funniest shit ever, you would still put down “chocolate cake” if it were Zach’s turn. Unless you didn’t give a shit about his preference and just wanted to create the funniest combination possible, because who needs to take life that seriously when you’re getting drunk with a bunch of college buddies and you just want to laugh and have a good time?

That scenario describes the first time Zach and I played A2A. It was a wintry Friday night our senior year, and we were hanging out with a bunch of co-workers from the school newspaper, enjoying some adult beverages. We started the game, and most everyone quickly caught on.

One guy in particular took to the ironic combinations, so when he judged, everyone knew to come up with the most absurd pairing possible. Except Zach. Zach still played the most literal choice he could, and he grew increasingly angry each time the other player chose another card over his.

One time, this player drew the “neglected” card. Zach played “New Orleans,” while someone else played the noun “politicians.” When the judge chose “neglected politicians” over “neglected New Orleans,” I thought Zach was going to lose it. (Granted, this was about a year after Katrina, FEMA and heckuva job Brownie, so it was probably the best choice …)

At this point, I should have foreseen the storm brewing. When he threatened to quit the game, I should not have persuaded him otherwise. I should have faked dysentery and asked him to take me home. (Yes, telling my friends I had the grossest disease you could get on the Oregon Trail would have been better than what happened next.)

But I didn’t. Oh, how I didn’t …

Next, someone drew the word “cosmic” from the adjective pile. Zach laid down the “big bang theory.” As the big bang theory is about as cosmic as it gets, he considered this a sure-fire winner. Someone else played “bigfoot.” It came down to “big bang theory” and “bigfoot.”

“Bigfoot” won.

Zach freaked out.

“No. NO! There is NOTHING more cosmic than the big bang theory! This game is so GAY!”

(Now, Zach is a fairly upstanding individual who doesn’t normally throw around the word “gay” to mean “stupid” like an illiterate, ignorant seventh-grader would. Nor would we have started dating in the first place if he did. But Apples to Apples had thrown him into such a blinding rage that he reverted to this uncouth description.)

“I’M LEAVING!” he bellowed. He shot a glance at me, foam dripping from his mouth. “ARE YOU COMING WITH ME?”

I sat at the table, a little panicked, my eyes flitting back and forth between him and the group of drunk people snickering at his outburst. On the one hand, he was my normally calm, personable boyfriend. On the other hand, he was acting like a psycho.

I chose to go with him. Mainly because I was mortified and didn’t want to explain his behavior if I stayed. We barely spoke in the car. (I told him I would prefer if he wouldn’t use the word “gay” like that; he replied, “Yeah, fine, whatever.”)

To this day, no one can mention A2A to Zach without provoking a fit of rage. Just last week, a friend mentioned it on Facebook, and he immediately commented to say how stupid it is.

I’ve given up trying to explain it to him, because he just doesn’t get it. In my last attempt, I tried to explain that the other players didn’t always agree with the judge’s choice, but they didn’t freak out.

His reply?

“So, if you see someone getting attacked, and everyone else is staying calm, but you’re sort of freaking out and want to call 9-1-1, does that make you the weird one? NO!”

That’s more like comparing apples to oranges than apples to apples, I replied.

No wonder he doesn’t get it.

30 Jun

Grandma Man

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me.

I take the city bus to get to my job at the University of Montana. I do this for myriad reasons, including but not limited to:

  • Refusal to pay for a $200 pass needed to park on campus, which doesn’t even guarantee me a g.d. spot since they sell about 1,000 more passes than there are spaces.
  • Sparing the lives of those who would otherwise perish due to my uncontrollable road rage.
  • Saving money on gas so I can put it toward more important things, like squirrel earrings.
  • The smug sense of self-righteousness to which I’m entitled for single-handedly saving the planet, etc.

However, I recently encountered two disturbances that could change my bus-ridership forever.

About a month ago, a new driver started maneuvering Route 11, the first bus I hop on in the morning. He seemed familiar the first time I saw him, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. He wasn’t familiar in an “evoking fond memories of a long-lost pal” sort of way, but in more of a “you’re kind of creeping my shit but what the hell, I’ll still get on this bus you’re driving” sort of way.

I let this CONSUME MY MIND for about 20 seconds, then never really thought about it again.

Also bad for the bald community.

Until today. Because today, it dawned on me: “That bus driver totally looks like the sex offender who moved into Larry’s neighborhood on ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’!!”

OK, so once I got over the initial repulsion, this really wasn’t that big of a deal, and I resumed my routine bus ride.

But then, Grandma Man got on.

That’s right, Grandma Man.

In the days of yore (high school), instead of doing back-to-school shopping at Helena’s shit-tastic mall, we would drive two hours to shop at the one in Missoula, which is only slightly less shitty but it has an Abercrombie so duh! it’s really awesome!

Anyway, Grandma Man is the less-than-affectionate nickname we gave to the old man who dresses up like an old woman and sits near the food court and draws people as they walk by. (A staple at any shopping mall, really.) And because he’s an old man who dresses up like an old woman and sits near the food court and draws people as they walk by, he’s creepy as shit.

And though I had once deemed it impossible, it turns out Grandma Man can be even creepier. Like when he gets on your bus and starts talking to you but he has no teeth so you really can’t understand what he’s saying so you just smile and nod and say “yes, uh huh” and then you look a little closer and realize that maybe Grandma Man isn’t actually a man at all just an old lady who kind of looks like a man so maybe you’ve had shim wrong all these years or then you think that maybe this isn’t Grandma Man after all and you’ve just mistaken a mannish old woman for a mannish old man who dresses like a mannish old woman.

And then you get to your stop and GET THE FUCK OFF that bus.

18 Jun

In a nutshell: Unsportsman-like conduct, unfortunate apology, furry friends

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Other.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: “In a nutshell” is a new, occasional series featuring some select musings/tangents of Squirrel.)

Though I don’t actually care, I rooted for the Lakers to win the NBA Finals. But only because they’ve been Papa Squirrel’s favorite team since he was 5 or something, so sure, whatever, go Lakers. But when sports reach the professional level, shouldn’t the fans be over the “booing the other team’s players when the announcer introduces them before the game” antic? I mean, if this were Capital High School, c. 2002, and the Bruins were about to take on Helena High in a highly contested crosstown match, upon whose outcome the Fate of the World rested, and the Capital student fans all pretended to read newspapers while the announcer listed off the opposing team’s players, then it would be cool. (Try to do that with the Internet! Ha!) Mainly because high school kids are not yet a recognized division of civilization, so they can get away with such hijinks. Until the principal threatens suspension, at least. Once you graduate from high school though, you’re technically a Responsible Member of Society, so you can at least pretend you believe in the ideals of good sportsmanship before the game starts.

***

Speaking of good sportsmanship, how ’bout them Republicans? They’re such good sports about this whole worst-environmental-disaster-in-U.S.-history thing that they apologized for “shaking down” the company that caused it! Apparently, 11 people died, thousands are out of work, and it will probably take years to clean up the gazillion barrels of oil threatening the Gulf’s fragile ecosystem, but gee willikers, BP, it’s not like you were negligent and cut corners to boost profits or anything! Oh, wait … OK, so it was one Republican, who later “apologized for his apology,” if such a concept even exists, but that doesn’t really make a difference. I may be a pinko-commie socialist, but if we’re expecting the government, taxpayers, etc., to adhere to the ideal of personal accountability, then we should expect the same from corporations when they screw up, no matter how much money they donate to our campaigns.

***

On a fluffier note, I was out doing the marathon-training thing a few weeks ago, and I saw a corgi, a husky and her puppy, and an English sheep dog, all on the SAME RUN! It was the best day EVER!

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